


Paper Rings

by Krizlynn



Category: One Piece
Genre: Canon, Completed, Cute, Fluff, M/M, Merry (One Piece) - Freeform, One Shot, Rings, Romance, Sanji is literally smitten, canon AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 15:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20696048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krizlynn/pseuds/Krizlynn
Summary: Sanji, with all of his flourishing vigor and love of drama and women, recounts why he wants to marry Zoro.





	Paper Rings

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [【索香】纸戒指](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25965574) by [APTX](https://archiveofourown.org/users/APTX/pseuds/APTX)

> Inspired by Taylor Swift's Paper Rings, also my first time writing Zosan so please be kind <3  
Also, this is pre-timeskip. Zoro's still the cutie with both eyes

Sanji never really thought that he’d be willing to settle down.

All of his life he believed he’d be working for Zeff—repaying his debt; cooking over a hundred meals a day, every week and every month. Hours and hours that only end up counting as a few cents in the whole millions he owed Zeff. And then, even after years of working for Zeff and getting picked up by Luffy’s crew, he still never thought about marriage.

Sure, he loved ladies and would worship the dirty floor they so much as looked at, but marriage wasn’t something he saw in his future. Plenty of fights, conflicts and his conquest to find the All Blue stopped him from ever thinking that he’d marry someone and be _sane_ while thinking of it. But maybe he longed for it sometimes. A normal, sweet life where he worked at a restaurant that wasn’t floating on the sea, with his beautiful wife who waited at home for him as she baked cakes and welcomed their child home from school. Yes, he admitted. Sometimes he wanted that, though those moments only cross his mind when he’s had a particularly hard day at sea (Luffy is never merciful on how much shit the crew can take) but Sanji knew that on any other day, where he wasn’t digging himself into a pit and cursing every aspect in his life, he loved his current life.

He loved the thrill of it all—the adventure, the rewarding feeling, his crew-mates, hell even the weird things they’d cross after entering the Grand Line. That was why he never thought of settling down.

There was one thing, however, that he might’ve loved more than anything else. It was that thing (that _person_) that shockingly made Sanji think about settling down, even when the day hadn’t been bad.

The person who was currently getting up from their spot at the table, eyebrows furrowed and speech angry in a way it was never angry with anyone else.

They had a special relationship: Zoro and Sanji.

“—Stupid, as if you knew what you were talking about,” Zoro nearly growls, and Sanji only smirks.

“What, I can’t say the truth? Your swordsmanship is comparable to the marine I kicked off board yesterday.”

Zoro constantly pushed all of Sanji’s buttons, no matter how hard he tried to make those buttons invincible. It was the same vice versa, and there was never a day where they didn’t spit an insult at each other.

It was stress relief. It was fun and exhilarating and exciting—it was the two of them pushing and pulling, like the violent waves hitting shore before pulling back; equally strong teams in a game of tug-o-war. Sanji’s lungs would always feel as if they were filled to the brim, all while breathing the most freely as he ever could. The feeling and knowledge that Zoro was there, with his often sweat-licked skin and maniacal grin, was what set Sanji on fire.

“If I remember correctly, your ass needed saving after you got distracted by the disgusting female admiral,” Zoro retorts, and he’s stepping closer to Sanji. They both know a fight is in order.

“Hey! She was not disgusting, you Shitty Bastard!" Sanji puffs out a breath of smoke after he plucks the cigarette out of his mouth, just as quick to put it back. "If you were actually as honourable as you claimed to be, you’d treat women with respect!”

“Being respectful and being a dog is different,” Zoro chides, and when Sanji sees that the tables have somehow turned and Zoro’s the one smirking, his anger flares ten-fold. He leaps across the kitchen and grabs the collar of Zoro’s ratty shirt, pulling him in until their foreheads clash.

“Let’s see who the dog is after I make you beg for your fucking life.”

Zoro's grey eyes catch the shine of the kitchen lights, and Sanji recognizes the message in them. 

_Danger_.

Sanji brings his leg up _hard_, trying to catch Zoro off guard and evidently failing, because he's now got a large hand grasping his knee. If they weren't currently fighting, the warmth would've otherwise sent shivers up his spine. But they _were_ fighting, and the dare in Zoro's gaze almost makes Sanji scoff.

"_Now_ you've pissed me off."

The blond spits the cigarette out of his mouth, and the crunch of cancer under his shoe signals the start—then they're at it, leather shoes against steel, the occasional grunts and brushing of arms and legs against each other. 

Sanji's used to this already and so is Zoro, the two of them not even blinking an eye when they hold out for longer than normal people. In fact, it raises the tension and gives the air an almost electric current, which only spur the two on. Like this, they make each other feel things that ordinary relationships could not fulfill. 

In a way, their fighting was trust.

Zoro’s blades were sharp. They could ruin Sanji’s dreams—_could have _ruined Sanji’s dreams, the three-hundred and sixty-five times they’d fought. Every time either Zoro or Sanji weren’t in their best mindset and a slip-up occurred where victory for one of them was assured, there was never any hurt. Neither physical nor mental hurt. Zoro’s swords would always be pulled back just before slicing through skin, and Sanji’s shoe-clad feet would always stop just before crushing bone. They always strove for victory, but once victory was nigh they’d pull back, knowing with every inch of their body and soul that they were truly equals. Nothing as small as a mistake could change the view they had for each other.

Sanji trusted Zoro with his life.

Like now, where Zoro shoves him and he stumbles over the chair behind him, the sword coming at him capable of cutting off his arm without the defence of his occupied feet. Instead he knows that Zoro will take care of it, he feels and sees how easily the sword twists in Zoro’s grasp and instead of cutting through him, the blunt side slides on the top of his left shoulder as Zoro follows his fall, landing on top of him and puncturing the wood next to his head with _Kitetsu_.

“You bastard,” Sanji nearly spits, though he feels as if his eye is betraying what he truly feels, the window of his soul telling Zoro once more that _I love you, _and _I trust you_. “Playing dirty and tripping me over a chair.”

Zoro grins cockily and maybe he’d noticed the emotion in Sanji’s only revealed eye, because instead of yelling back he just leans his forehead on Sanji’s, his eyes closing. "As _if_ that was any bit dirty."

Together they were conventionally the tide on the beach, but in moments like these they became the ripples of water on a pond, the falling sakura petals that minutely disturb the ordinary. They become shared breaths and whispered declarations of adoration, everything in between love and obsession.

The hand that was previously holding _Kitetsu_ slips to the side of Sanji’s face, and Sanji’s absolutely _smitten_, heart pounding in his chest even if he’s done more intimate things with Zoro. His hands, the ones that he swore he’d use only on things he cherished the most, slides up Zoro’s arm before settling on the back of his neck. Even in the darkness of his closed eyes he can see how Zoro shifts to press their lips together. A chaste peck and then another, until Sanji meets his lips with a tongue and he can _feel _Zoro’s smile.

Sanji’s winded and he’s so happy that he really doesn’t know what to do.

This man on top of him, whom he knew rarely _actually _smiled at anything after his first and only defeat, smiles just as easily as anyone else when he’s with him.

Sanji wants to marry Zoro.

-

Sanji is extravagant. He’s over the top and he loves strong symbols, significant actions, and impactful words. He’d want to give his wife the prettiest jewels in the world, the largest diamond on her ring finger. He loves bouquets and tuxedos and dresses, and everything that has to do with the word “fancy”. It is because of this that he used to imagine his wedding (if it would ever occur) to be the biggest event in town. Girls would fawn over the ring his wife had received—men would drool at pictures come next day of his wife in her splendid wedding gown.

If that’s the case—which it _is_, there’s no denying Sanji’s the definition of the word _extravagant—_Sanji sometimes wonders why he’d ever want to marry Zoro. He understands and accepts that he’d say _yes _in a heartbeat, but it confuses him that the simple act of saying yes would defy everything he thought he was until that moment.

Zoro doesn’t care about appearances. He doesn’t care about grand gestures and surprise birthday parties like Sanji does. The way he holds Sanji’s hand is simple, as if the only reason to do it is to... _hold his hand._ Zoro kisses like it’s the obvious choice in any situation. He kisses Sanji with only one intent—and it is, again, as simple as _to kiss him_.

The thing that changes it all is that it’s _Sanji_. It’s not just some stranger that he’s kissing. It’s the name he whispers when he does it, the significance of the hand that he holds.Holding _his _hand, kissing _him_. Zoro makes it clear that he’d only ever do these things to Sanji, and the blond had never before felt loyalty and devotion as strong as Zoro’s. If someone were to tell him that they’d seen Zorowith a different lover and gave the evidence of green hair and swords, Sanji would deny it vehemently and would swear that it was some other fool with green hair and swords, no matter how unlikely that’d be.

Zoro’s just like that. He made people trust him no matter the situation, because the amount of times he’d proved himself shows that there is no reason not to.

It makes Sanji feel invincible when he goes on shore with Zoro and they head to a bar, men and women hitting on him left and right (because _yeah_, it’s Zoro and he makes Sanji weak in the knees by simply staring at him) and he doesn’t do anything about it. Zoro ignores it all and even scowls if someone makes a move that’s too bold. He instead destroys the bar with Sanji when they get into an argument that’s a little too heated, doing this even with the knowledge that he could easily take some guy or girl out that’d willingly give him the time of day.

Zoro’s simple.

Sanji knows that, and he would throw away the diamonds and the fancy tuxedos; the gawping men and the jealous women, and take what Zoro gives him. He’d take pictures of him and Zoro arguing, the looks of scorn given to famous pirates, the same goddamn white shirt every day—he’d take a wedding ring made out of paper.

He’d take everything Zoro gives him, because Zoro would do the same.

“Thinking?” Zoro murmurs, and Sanji doesn’t say anything, leaned up against Zoro’s side in the small space of Merry’s watchtower. The stars on top of them glisten like the sea on a bright day, and Sanji can hear the lulling sound of waves and wind in his ears.

His head falls to the right and he presses it to the side of Zoro’s arm, snuggling closer to the man without acknowledging how much he wants Zoro’s warmth next to him.

They’re cozy sitting on the little floor, even if they have to adjust their legs because of the watchtower’s structure.

Shortly after Zoro inquires him about his thoughts, Sanji lifts up his left hand, gaze kept on his fourth finger and the imagination of being married to the person next to him.

“A paper ring,” Sanji snorts to himself, so quiet that he could barely hear himself. He knows Zoro’s got an eyebrow quirked in question. Paper rings are something so _Zoro_ that it’s barely funny.

He doesn’t see it and maybe it’s because of the darkness of night, but in the next second Zoro’s right hand reaches up and their fingers interlace in an awkward hold, his hand getting dragged down with the marimo's, falling into the little sliver of space between them.

“If you wanna hold hands just say so,” Zoro grumbles and Sanji actually laughs then.

“You’d think I would’ve picked my right hand for that, no?”

“Who knows what goes on in that idiotic brain of yours,” Zoro mentions curtly.

“Hey, don’t make me kick you off this damn—“

Zoro squeezes Sanji’s hand and the blond shuts up effectively. In moments like these, where the long day is over and it's just the two of them, dark blue the only visible colour, they’re both surprisingly docile. 

The cook presses his lips together, and he’d lie if he said he wasn’t pouting.

“It was my left hand for a reason,” Sanji decides to say, and Zoro just grunts.

“‘That the hand you jerk off with?”

“What—_no_!”

“So your _right_ hand is the one you jerk off with.”

“You _bastard_—I mean, _yes, _but shut the fuck up.”

Zoro chuckles and Sanji huffs from anger, but all words and feelings of insult disappear like dust in the wind when Zoro lifts their hands, shifting until he’s half facing Sanji now. Sanji hasn’t the slightest clue of what the moss-for-brains is doing, but he doesn’t get the chance to think about it before Zoro’s head dips down to meet the rise of their hands, lips pressing a kiss onto the start of Sanji’s fourth finger.

It’s right where a wedding ring should belong.

That moment, Sanji knows, will forever be remembered as the time that his heart exploded. The time where he let out a strained little noise of joy and his fingers reflexively clutched onto Zoro’s hand like he never wanted to let go. A point in time where Zoro became the most romantic person Sanji knew including himself, and managed to keep it still, just. _Zoro._

God, Sanji wants to marry Zoro.


End file.
